“That’s because someone severed his brake lines. There was a trail of brake fluid from the front gate of his property to the intersection. Even if he’d pushed down on the brakes, they wouldn’t have responded.”
“Melody asked you specifically if there were any links between Crombie and her parents’ accident. You told her there wasn’t.” Nothing but unbridled anger sizzles in my tone. I’m beyond pissed. All of this should have been admitted years ago.
“I had to follow protocol. Their accident was way above my paygrade.”
My roar projects over the music bellowing out of Isaac’s nightclub. “So you lied? You lied to the two people who trusted you to be honest!”
The whooshing noise sounding down the line has me picturing him nodding. “Yes.”
I almost crush the micro camera in my hand when I squeeze down on it with all my might. Instead, I growl my frustration into the street. I’m pissed—beyond fucking outraged. I trusted Grayson because I thought he was the only person being honest with Melody and me.
I know better now.
“I’m done. You’ll have to find Katie without my help.”
As my hand moves to my ear, Grayson recites his last plea. “Brandon, you need to think about this. This is bigger than you realize. This is about more than Liam stumbling onto something he shouldn’t have. Cutting me off now won’t help anyone. We’re so fucking close to finding out the truth —” His words are cut off when I rip the earpiece from my ear, throw it to the ground along with the camera button, then stomp on them.
Once I’m confident they’re destroyed beyond repair, I toss open the door of my BMW and slide into the driver’s seat. As I reverse out of the dusty lot at the speed of lightning, I demand Siri to bring up my call history. I throw my gearshift into first gear before tapping the screen on the dashboard. An operator at the Federal Bureau of Investigation answers my call two rings later.
“Brandon James, Agent 443567. I need you to patch me through to Agent Russell.”
“Phillipa Russell from the New York Division of Internal Affairs or her father, Phillip, Acting Director of the Bureau?” the operator queries, doubling the knot twisted in my stomach.
15
MELODY
“M s. Gregg, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” introduces a pretty brunette with a kind smile and bright, glistening eyes. “My name is Phillipa Russell. I’m an agent at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.” She gestures her hand to a seat across from her and a male agent wearing a similar suit as hers, he just has a striped tie curled around his neck. “I asked Agent Moses to sit with us during your interview since he’s familiar with ASL.”
Phillipa’s head slants to the side when I say, “I can talk.” Her pale cheeks bloom with heat when I add, “I can also hear you.”
“Oh… ah… okay.” She straightens her suit jacket before screwing up her face. “I must apologize. Our reports state you were born deaf.”
“I was. I had cochlear implants done three years ago. They made me not deaf.” I almost laugh at the daftness of my reply, but the seriousness of the situation stops me from doing that. “Can you tell me what this is about? Your email was quite blasé, and when I called the number at the bottom of your message, the gentleman on the other end wasn’t overly obliging, either.”
She smiles to settle my unease. “It’s a habit of the job. The less they know, the less—”
“Likely they’ll find themselves in trouble.” When surprise crosses her pretty features, I mutter, “My dad use to say that all the time.”
Her eyes twinkle even more when she smiles. “Mine still does. Along with many more annoying odes.” When she gestures for me to sit, I do. “Would you like me to excuse Agent Moses, so we can talk girl to girl?”
I hide the gurgle of my stomach with a cough. Why would we need to talk girl to girl? Female agents usually reserve that courtesy for victims of… Oh, God, does she know my secret?
Incapable of speaking, I shake my head, acting brainless to her reasoning behind us needing privacy.
The tight knot twisted in my stomach loosens when Phillipa says, “Okay,” before she flips open the chunky file in front of her. It isn’t full of witness statements from the attendees of Joey’s summer party. It’s evidence from my family’s home invasion. “I know you were very young when this incident happened, but I’m hoping the steps your father took after it has kept it fresh in your mind.”
She speaks as if she knows about the drills my father ran Brandon and me through every weekend he wasn’t deployed.
When she requests permission to show me some photographs, I nod. “These were taken shortly after the incident. I don’t want you to look at the objects the forensic team was focused on. I want you to look deeper. Take in the background of each photo.”
I lick my dry lips before nodding again. “These are from the basement?”
“Yes,” she agrees, nodding. “How did you know that?”
I point to a bike with pink tassels in the background. “My dad put the tassels on the day before the home invasion. I loved them so much, I wouldn’t let him put the bike into the back shed. After a long-winded compromise, we agreed my bike could sleep in the basement for the night.” I stop when I choke on my last three words. The memory is a happy one, but it reveals how much my father changed only a few short hours later.
“That’s good, Melody. What about the other images? Can you spot anything familiar in them?”
